Personal Hell
by charming2drew
Summary: One Shot.Max in the white room and he never got rescued. Total Max Angst!


He willed the door to open, yet, it didn't happen. He was trapped here and no one had found him. Where were his friends? Why weren't they searching for him? Well, fuck them! He could find his own way out of this personal hell.

He brought his stare down to the floor. Who was he kidding? He would never get out of here, his own hell. They had perfected the room during the duration of his stay. Of course, it was still as white as possible but now a thrumming sound was heard throughout the room.

Max had come to learn that the thrumming meant that _they _were coming. The thrumming was literally driving Max ever so close to being insane. He was paranoid and possibly bipolar. He hated his friends but he also loved them. They left him here. Left him in this place to rot and die, to live the same day over and over, never giving him a break.

It was all the same. He would wake up from a nightmare. He attracted those like flies. Being drenched in a cold sweat, Max would take what little comfort the pure white room offered him.

Sitting in the corner, he would try to re-establish his breathing. He would bring his knees to his chest and try not to cry. It was so difficult. What had he ever done to deserve this? He was a freak. An alien. He was an alien that did not deserve to live. He would eventually become a horrid monster that would cause destruction on anything that would dare to get in his way. He had to be locked away so he wouldn't cause any harm to the people around him and to himself. That was why _they _locked him away and hid him from the public. That was why that took him from his life, his family, his friends, and his love.

After getting lost in his thoughts, the thrumming noise would start and Max would begin to shake uncontrollably. They were coming and they would be there any minute. Max would glance in every direction hoping for some miracle that would save him from the pain.

A miracle never presented itself. The door opened and the torture would begin. They would walk towards him. He never saw their faces. They were covered in white. It was all white. He never saw any other color. All white. He hated it. All white left was despair.

They grab his arms and lift him to his feet. His legs would give out on him and they would occasionally manage to catch him. Sometimes he would hit the white tile with a loud THUMP or if they caught him an intake of breath would be heard and his broken ribs cracked some more as they stretched.

They would drag him over to a rolling table and lay him on it. It was freezing. The room was always freezing. It didn't have a heater so Max tended to have a weak immune system.

He would shake and then whimper in pain as they strike him for making a fuss over a little cold. They never understood what he was feeling, all the pain, angst, despair, and hopelessness. That was all he could feel now. Max never smiled. He was never happy. He was just a shell. He was a body without a soul.

They would take out all their experimenting instruments, looking Max in the eye and a needle would be forced into his forearm. Max would try to hold in the scream but he never could.

Sometimes Pierce would be there during these experiments. When he was there it wasn't as bad. He would want Max to be in perfect condition for what he had planned that day. But when he wasn't there it would be worse. The experimenters would have no self control for they would receive no punishment for inflicting unnecessary pain to the test subject.

When the fluid would be injected, Max would lose the feeling in his feet and then it would work all the way to his neck. It stopped there. They didn't want him to feel the physical pain only the mental. To Max it was all the same.

They would take knifes and cut him. The blood would slowly drip down his body. Max was always able to see what they were doing for a mirror is what the ceiling was, a huge mirror.

The view was horrible, it drove Max deeper into despair. He had seen the inside of his body so many times. Every time they cut him open a stray tear would leak out of the corner of his eye. No one ever saw it.

When Pierce would not be there, the men would taunt Max by showing him his blood. Max couldn't stomach that and would feel nauseous. He would tend to get sick on one of the men or in his throat. He had only been sent to the infirmary once. He had almost choked on his own bile. After that, the men had learned never to taunt Max in that particular way.

After the hours of experiments, they would leave and Max would be left to his own devices. All he did was think. Think of his friends and what they were doing, if his love had forgotten him, and what was in store for him. His future never looked bright.

A knock would be heard hours later, and Max would receive his only meal during the day. From malnourishment, Max had lost weight, too much weight for someone who was over 6'1.

He would hastily eat his meal and crawl back to his corner. After the intake of food, Max's eyes would drupe and he would slump over in a somewhat bliss solitude.

Max was pulled out of his musings as he heard the thrumming. _They _were coming.


End file.
